Two Halves
by Fairy Laughing
Summary: The sons of Elrond spar throughout the night in a snowstorm. Vingette. No slash, no smut (despite the cover image), just swordplay.


Disclaimer: Recognizable characters are the intellectual property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. There is no money made by this story, it's just fan-fiction. SRSLY GUYZ.

Two Halves

Seen from the windows of the last homely house are glints in the early morning light, flashes of silver and gold whose source is indiscernible, even by elven eyes. Yet Elrond stands at his balcony, hands resting lightly on the smooth railing, watching this display of light; he knows what it is. It is not the light playing on the winter snow but swords for his sons were sparring again. The red of dawn shone like blood.

In a clearing in the woods, swords clash against one another. Each blade is a smooth length of elven mithril, looking like shafts of light tumbling from the sky. They are made equal, in height and weight, the only difference being the differently coloured gems on the hilts and scabbards, the centre stone white for Elladan and blue for Elrohir.

The swords clash, an equal strike for each strike, blow for blow, parry for parry; the wielders are able to predict the others movements as well as their own. The two warriors were as equally made as their blades, and only one who knew them well could tell them apart. They were both elves, though more broad-shouldered and strong than their elven kin, for they possessed human blood, and with that a fire in their spirit which most elves did not hold.

Perspiration beaded on their high brows, and it continued to fall. After sparring for the entire night, they were pleased with themselves. Certainly, vengeance was theirs. These matches were only between them, a wordless agreement. This was how they strengthened themselves, and bonded with one another. It would seem queer, to an outsider, how fighting your brother would bring you closer to him, but upon this ground they were equal. If it were archery Elrohir would excel, or if it were a test of speed Elladan would best his brother. Swords though, hand-to-hand combat, required speed, strength and precision, all three of which they possessed in differing quantities. In this way, the odds were even. Snow had fallen into their hair, but was melted now, making it wet and darker, and their cheeks flushed with the cold. The ground beneath them was hard, icy from constantly being stepped on. They were both tired, but still grey eyes, equal in every aspect, watched the other being, a mirror image, analyzing their mood. They were two halves of the same whole, one unbeatable force when combined.

Neither would relent and allow the other victory by resigning, it would have to be some distraction from the outside which would break their concentration. Exhaustion was evident in their movements, weary. Another strike, another block, then the return, and again. They drew back, their breaths issuing in gasps and fading as steam before their eyes.

Both knew that this way they would improve, and this would be the only way. Only a handful of others could best their skills, but because they were so equally matched, a battle between them, even a spar, was formidable. Each continued this practice for the same reason, so that they could continue to avenge their mother. Improvement in battle was not something Elrohir would have pursued had it not been for her, and even Elladan would not be so concerned about his skills were it not for his sense of devotion.

This was their fate. Elrond knew, and left them to finish their match.

At last a distraction came, although normally it was someone coming into their vicinity, this time they had driven themselves too far in too extreme of weather. The snowstorm the previous night was fresh in their minds, fighting between darkness and flashes of white. It had been biting cold, and the wind had howled and whipped them into a frenzy.

So now, beyond exhausted, a look was shared between them, neither wanting to admit their weakness verbally. Then they silently sank to the ground on their knees and caught their breaths.

"Good match, brother." Elladan said quietly.

"You did well." Elrohir told him.

"I will best you yet."

"Not before I best you."

The verbal banter continued as they heaved themselves up, and then leaned against one another on their trek back home. "Something hot to drink when we get back?" asked Elrohir.

"And food." Added Elladan, earning an enthusiastic nod from his brother, "I wonder what was made for breakfast today?"

"We shall have to wait and find out when we get there," said Elrohir

"I will race you there!" Challenged Elladan, breaking away from his brother into a swift gait.

"I demand a restart!" Elrohir cried, chasing after his twin, his equal, his other half.


End file.
